Questionable Loyalties
by Dahat1992
Summary: What is left when all that drives you is no more?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Introduction

Stars and space dust streaked in and out of the transparasteel viewport as the _Unstoppable Force_ slipped through the all-encompassing embrace of subspace. In his ready room, sitting comfortably at his desk, Admiral Bua'tu gazed at technical specifications for the new Titan class battle cruiser with the concentration and single-minded determination that had allowed him to gain his rank at such a young age, and marveled once more at the extraordinary ship. Ever since that archaeological excursion in the K'Vorch rift found whatever it did, technology had progressed by leaps and bounds, advancing modern Civilization hundreds of years in the time it took him to graduate from the Naval Academy. Whatever they had found, it had made this ship possible. It had made _his_ ship possible. Yes, Admiral Bua'tu was being assigned the first Titan, to be named the _Adversary's Atrophy. _This ship was going to win the war for them. This ship was going to restore order to the Galaxy. They had been saying this for the past 150 years, but this time, Bua'tu thought, would be different. With this ship as the Flagship of the fleet, the Galactic Alliance would systematically crush the illegitimate authority that had so presumptuously claimed almost half the galaxy. Their methods were numerous; subvert a system here, force a consortium to succeed there, wrest power from a wealthy businessman in yet another hostile takeover, and you have a well- funded, brutal enemy that can take whatever you dish and give it right back. They were bred to be the perfect soldiers, too; cold, calculating, without mercy. They weren't afraid to execute a tactical retreat, but neither did they balk at fighting to the last man. They were a force for destruction, and Bua'tu would have a direct role in bringing their downfall. Of that, he was certain.

As he sat there basking in the soft glow of his computer terminal, his thoughts drifted towards his family. It wasn't his carreer that drove him, nor his pride, as many other Admirals. It was his family, and the need to provide a safe and united galaxy for his children. His two kids, Charlotte and Andrew, would be so much older than when he last saw them three long years ago. Charlotte would be 14, Andrew 12. How he had missed them. But this was unproductive; thinking about being with his family would not make it so, only the determination to win at any cost, the cold, calculating logic that had so served him over the years. He buried those feelings of longing, focusing on the task at hand, but with renewed vigor. He would demand out of it everything this ship could give him, and perhaps more. He allowed himself a small smile, a side of himself the crew never saw. Perhaps these thoughts of his family were not completely unproductive.

A two-toned chime sounded over the speakers hidden craftily in the mahogany wood, and Bua'tu depressed a button.

"Bua'tu here," he said, as all thoughts of anything but the task at hand were not so much pushed as ordered to the back of his mind, then forced to lay down in the mental obscurity he was so used to implimenting in all but the most relaxed and private of situations.

"Admiral, this is the bridge; we are five minutes from space station _Immovable Object_, there to transfer to _Adversary's Atrophy_ and stand by to await further orders. Shall we halt the proceedings until you are able to join us on the bridge?"

"That won't be necessary," Bua'tu stated. "I'm on my way now."

"Very good, sir," the voice replied. "We shall commence as planned, then."

"Very good, Ensign. Bua'tu out." He hit the button that would end the transmission, then saved what notes he took for further review to a removable storage device he kept on his person. He then deftly flicked a few buttons that powered down his console. No sense wasting war materiel, no matter how seemingly trivial.

The war, as they said, was not over yet.

Admiral Bua'tu strode onto the bridge with the confidence that suggested a man used to having his orders carried out. And indeed he was. With a back so straight as to make the bulkheads jealous and a sharp tone that conveyed the message that he was not quite mad, only slightly irritated that he would even have to give the order, he managed to keep the crew on their toes. He listened as the helmsman recited minute course corrections; compensating for the rotation of the space station, docking orders, port thrusters 1/4 power, all the mundane things one has to deal with when piloting a space vessel. Bua'tu did not live for the mundane, nor did he make it a practice to accomidate it. "Extending docking clamps," the ops officer announced to no one in particular. "All systems green; engineering reports thrusters fully functional."

"Very good," Bua'tu said. "Now let's see what happens when _Unstoppable Force_ meets _Immovable Object_." A ripple of laughter ran through the bridge crew at the reference to the ancient paradox, a welcome break to the silence that had enveloped the bridge just moments before. The crew was anxious to see their new ship. That was fine, just as long as they weren't excited. Excitement made you rush; made you miss things. Bua'tu expected perfection, and it was rare that his crew did not meet his expectations. Hand picked from all parts of the galaxy, graduates from the naval academy and military corps both, the result was a diverse, yet tight-knit crew willing and able to work under pressure; skilled in deep-space, aerial, and landside combat, this was indeed the finest crew in the fleet. As they should be; the flagship should have only the best.

"Attention all crewmembers, this is your Captain speaking. We have now docked at space station _Immovable Object_; commence personnel and cargo transference to the _Adversary's Atrophy_. And remember, people, even as we speak, our comrades are fighting and dying out on the front lines. The sooner we get out there, the sooner this tarking war will be at an end." It was rare, even unheard of, for Admiral Bua'tu to swear even amongst his closest friends, which is why the implication of swearing to the entire crew was so evident.

With the close of this war, nothing would quite be the same again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The bridge of the _Enemy's Atrophy_ was unlike any he had encountered before; with a large viewport dominating the entire forward wall, he and every member of the bridge crew had an unencumbered view of the space directly ahead of them, which at this precise moment consisted of two bulky labor droids drifting slowly to their stations. This was the first thing he noticed. Second was that immediately when he stepped through the doorway, he was standing on a pedestal. He could step down onto a walkway at 10, 12 and 2 o'clock, walking along three different walkways that eventually met 15 meters in front of him, monitoring the progress of his crew as they sat at their workstations in what looked like a four foot depression. But these depressions were not cramped, nor were they just trenches. While not giving the impression that they were comfortable, it was obvious that they were designed with long shifts in mind. They were thus designed to give the best possible support while still sitting the crewmember almost ramrod straight, maximizing alertness. Bua'tu almost smiled. At port, forward, you had helm; in the left most trench facing the portside walkway was communications. Directly behind communications, facing each other with the middle walkway beneath them was, to port ops, and to starboard an engineering console. Facing the starboard walkway was medical, and finally nestled where the middle and starboard trench came together on right forward, was tactical. A very symmetrical design. But Bua'tu could not shake the feeling that something was missing. It was... It was...

Oh. (too much?)

There was no Captain's chair. He smiled. It was no oversight on the architect's part to neglect to include a Captain's chair; in fact, if he was correct, great pains were made to make sure that his ship had no chair for the Commanding Officer on the bridge. Admiral Bua'tu had immense faith in his bridge crew, trusting them implicitly to handle greater challenges and bigger obstacles than any other bridge crew in the fleet were ever expected to face without their CO on the bridge. It was with this thought in mind that the Admiral said time and again, 'If there ever arises a problem so complex that my _crew'_ (he put extra emphasis on the word 'crew', and not 'my') 'is forced to call me to the bridge, can I really afford to be in such a lax and mentally inert position as to be lounging in a chair?' Yes, the detail and individuality put into this ship could not be faulted, even by a man used to having at least one thing wrong with his ship; whether it was with the ship itself or with a crewmember aboard it. But these problems were minor at worst, and considered problems only because no matter how smooth a ship ran, Bua'tu said, 'It can always run better.' Yes, he deserved the position. But he didn't tell himself that.

Admiral Bua'tu stepped down onto the bridge, onto the walkway running along the port wall, noting the position of his ready room and entering it. It was a simple design, with an almost perfect replica of his old desk nestled comfortably on one side. He immediately powered up the console, sat down, took out his data card and inserted it into the terminal. He then downloaded the files and ran a comparative scan on the shipboard schematics. Yes, everything checked out. There would be no surprises, as far as the she went.

He then noticed an icon in the upper right hand corner of the screen, oscilating between red and green, indicating that he had an incoming call. He touched the glowing circle, and immediately a full-sized hologram of Fleet Admiral Nevoth was sitting across the table from him. Bua'tu quickly hid the suprise on his face of yet another technological advancement as the Admiral spoke.

"Admiral Bua'tu, good afternoon," he said in a somewhat reedy voice that belied a fierce temper and a physique the envy of men 20 years younger. "I trust that the _Adversary's Atrophy_ is to your liking?"

"Indeed," Bua'tu said. "Great attention has been given to detail. She most certainly had the best archaeological and scientific minds behind her."

"I am happy to hear that you like her, Admiral. What do you think of her militaristic capabilities?" Bua'tu smiled. This was the part he liked best; just how much damage he could inflict on those who had robbed so much time away from so many families.

"Those specifications have not been released yet, sir. Could you send me an uplink?"

"Indeed I can. Commencing upload now; shielding specifications, armaments, and an updated crew roster, plus her very first mission. I hope you'll find it all to your liking, Admiral. Now, if there's nothing more..."

"I am sure that it will be, sir. Bua'tu out." The hologram reached forward, probably to depress the key that would disconnect the call, and Bua'tu watched as the photons lost coherence and virtually exploded into a multicolored supernova right in his ready room. Bua'tu frowned; he would have to get that fixed.

He looked down, browsed through the uploaded files, and opened the armaments folder. He had to reread some parts; this ship didn't seem possible. The hull itself was impressive enough; the ship was just over 4 Kilometers long, over twice the size of either side's largest capital ship, and with 3/4 the mass. It was made from pure Trinium; apparently, technology was not the only thing found on the dig.

Meter for meter, it had half again as many batteries, these ranging from partical beams to projectile launchers; it even had a full complement of ion cannons. The ship even had six fighter bays, able to house 50 fighters each, 100 max.

Bua'tu scrolled down the list, carefully taking in everything this ship had to offer. He then opened his orders, not quite eager, but definitely not reluctant to test her systems out. Ah, so they were headed to the front lines. Toward the enemy station _Kraken_, no less. Bua'tu sobered immediately. It was said that the _Kraken_ was the most heavily defended, heavily fortified space station on the front, but nobody knew for sure. The enemy implimented a cloaking field they seemed unwilling or unable to impliment anywhere else; the entire system was a seemingly empty void that no ship but one had ever made it out of. And he was going to lead the attack.

Admiral Bua'tu strode onto the bridge and immediately located his first officer. Commander Nintal Zaria, a middle aged woman only a few years younger than Bua'tu, struck an intimidating pose, even among allies. At an impressive two meters tall, and with a slender figure that concealed a lithe, toned body conditioned for action, Zaria looked like she belonged on the battlefield, not the bridge of a space vessel. Bua'tu stepped over, and was about to inquire on the status of the ship when Zaria preemptively answered.

"All systems nominal, sir. The portside batteries still need to cycle, but that can be done in transit; this will take between one and three hours, depending on the amount of power going to the drives. Main propulsion is online, as are the primary and auxiliary hyperdrives. Antimatter pods are fully recharged and auxiliary power is at 100%. That's the long version. The short version is that we're ready to go whenever you are."

"Very good, commander." While Bua'tu found her personality a tad lax for his taste, he found her straightforwardness refreshing, and had to admit that it was nice to have as a second in command someone who knew him so well; she knew what he wanted sometimes even before he knew it himself. "We shall depart immediately, then. Set course for the Antarren system, full speed. The batteries should have plenty of time to recharge."

"Sir," she asked, looking a bit uncomfortable, 'What of the Christening ceremony? Is there not to be one?"

"There is no need for a ceremony, especially not while a war rages around us. Besides, you should know by now that I am not a superstitious man, Commander."

"I am aware of this, sir, but what of the rest of us?"

"You have my permission to pray, if you so wish," he added, reminding her yet again that the only power he recognized were those put there by the Federation. Zaria was about to voice yet another objection, when Bua'tu interupted her thoughts.

"I gave you an order," he reminded her, holding up a hand. "Please do not waste both your and my time by forcing me to repeat it. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a previous engagement in Engineering. Good day, Commander." He walked off at a brisk pace, leaving Zaria looking after him, half in admiration and half in exasperation. While public relations were not exactly his strong suit, she had to admit that he was rarely wrong, and only wanted the best for his crew.

"Helmsman," she said, "Set course for the Antarren system, maximum velocity. Engage."

"Aye, sir. Hyperdrive coming online, commencing preflight diagnostic." He waited five seconds before continuing, "Diagnostic complete. All systems green. Engaging hyperdrive," he said, reaching forward and tapping a few icons on his console. Suddnly, the stars lept off the screen and into the bridge, passing through the aft bulkhead! Half the bridge crew ducked, while some even drew their sidearms as a reflex. Zaria, however, simply stood there, unfazed.

"Ops, please turn the holo-imaging system off. And give us some warning next time, will you?" The officer at ops smiled, then dutifully complied and cut power to the holo imagers.

"I'll be in the briefing room shall I be needed. Until then, Mr. Skaa, you have the bridge."

"Yes, sir," the ops officer replied. "Shall I com you when we are approaching our destination?"

"30 minutes before, if you please. And thank you." With that, she walked off the Bridge, and into the door opposite the ready room, only to reappear on the bridge an hour later, a full hour and a half before their scheduled arrival at the Antarren system. The red alert and cry for battle stations was still blazing in her ears.


End file.
